


How Gabriel Reyes Became King of Memes

by Anna_Blossom



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Friendship, Gen, Light Angst, M/M, Reconciliation, Team Bonding, Team Fluff, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 17:45:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9082897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anna_Blossom/pseuds/Anna_Blossom
Summary: Gabriel isn’t sure who started it, but it somehow became the latest trend in the base to try to make him laugh. Now, what’s worse is that someone also spread the rumor (and it’s just a rumor) that the quickest surefire way to do it was through stupid outdated memes.
(or how Gabriel Reyes finds his place in Overwatch once more)





	

The first time Sombra, Reaper and Widowmaker came to Gibraltar with the intent of looking for sanctuary, they were met with guns in their faces— not a very warm welcome. In fact, even as they explained (or rather, Reaper growled out the explanation while Widowmaker stood there looking pretty and Sombra made eyes with that gamer girl) that they were done with Talon and needed a hideout of sorts as they try to evade capture, torture, and whatever else Talon does to their rogue agents (because it was pretty damn genius, hiding in the last place Talon would think to even look), most of them refused to even lower their guns. Only after they gave up all of their weapons (two hellfire shotguns, one sniper rifle, one machine pistol, a combat knife, grappling hook, one spider visor, two clawed gauntlets, and an arsenal of venom mines and translocators (where they kept it all remains a mystery to this very day)) did the Overwatch agents lower theirs.

 

Ever since then, the only interaction between Reaper and any of the Overwatch members has been through glares, growls, complete indifference, or any combination of the three. It was no wonder he had no friends. Which is sad, because Sombra has friends, the gamer girl and the freedom fighter both having taken a liking to her. Even _Widowmaker_ has friends, spending time with the archer and the Vishkar defector, the three commonly found sitting in one corner of the room, silently judging the rest.

 

He’s thankful that, at the very least, there are a few people he can stand and who, at the same time, can stand him apart from Widowmaker. There’s McCree, who still insists on wearing that god awful hat and refuses to leave him alone for too long, always dragging him into doing one thing or another with the team, and Roadhog, whose silent company is very much welcome in the midst of the noisy base.

 

They aren’t _friends_ per se, but they’re the closest he’s got on that god forsaken rock. Other than that, he keeps to himself, even when it comes to the point where he gets comfortable enough to remove his mask in front of them (and he’ll never confess to how relieved he was when they, aside from the initial shock and passing comments, don’t act differently or say anything despite the smoke coming out of his mouth and the patches of dead skin on his face (McCree does, however, comment on the gray in his beard, but Gabriel quickly shuts him up by commenting about the gray in a certain archer’s hair)).

 

So it’s no small wonder why it turned into such a big deal when he first laughed in public. An earnest kind he only remembers from literally a lifetime ago.

 

The girl, or rather Hana, as Sombra insists he call her, stares at him with disbelief with Reinhardt beside her, pausing mid-chew.

 

“Your jaw drops any lower, it’ll reach the ground,” he snipes at her, crossing his arms.

 

She quickly gulps down her food. “Did you just— did you just laugh?! In a totally not homicidal way?” she stammered out, eyes wide, before turning to Reinhardt, who wore an amused grin on his face. “He laughed, didn’t he?”

 

He growls as Reinhardt lets out a belly-deep laugh, inwardly cursing the older man. He looked away, mentally berating himself for laughing at such a fucking stupid thing.

 

“Wha— How?!” Hana looks up at Reinhardt. “Was it that thing you did?”

 

“Ah! That, my friend, is called—”

 

Reinhardt shoots Reaper a mischievous look, before bringing his arms up, straightened diagonally towards one direction while bowing his head towards his bent elbow.

 

“—the dab!”

 

Gabriel’s brow ticks. He closes his eyes and slowly lets out a breath, trying to ignore the stupidly comical sight of a sixty year old man doing a—what, forty, fifty year old trend? Then it hits him. Is he really that old?

 

“The ‘dab’?” Hana repeats the word slowly, setting down her bag of chips.

 

God, he’s old.

 

A brilliant grin on Reinhardt’s face, eyes twinkling with mirth. “That is correct, young Hana. The dab!” And then he does it again, and Gabriel has to stop himself from smiling because it’s _not funny damn it_ , especially not when Hana laughs and does it as well.

 

And then Torbjörn walks into the room, grunting at them in greeting and heading straight for the coffeemaker, dark bags under his eyes.

 

Reinhardt pays no mind to his friend’s apparent tiredness and bellows for him to join them in doing— he pauses as he does it again— the dab.

 

Gabriel rolls his eyes as Hana snickers and does it with him.

 

Torbjörn scowls. “Don’t you dare go around and bring back that stupid trend.”

 

A pout forms on Reinhardt’s face, and he looks at his friend imploringly. “But it is fun! And it makes Gabriel laugh!”

 

“Ha! Now you’re just tryin t’make _me_ laugh,” Torbjörn says as he pours himself a cup. But a short while later, he not-so-subtly narrows his eyes at Gabriel from behind his cup.

 

“Hrm…”

 

Gabriel turns his head, staring back at him. “What?” he asks gruffly.

 

Then, Torbjörn places his mug on the counter, still making eye contact, and turns so that his body fully faced the other man.

 

The next few moments pass by in tense silence, Reinhardt and Hana having stopped their conversation to watch, the impromptu staring contest stretching on until Torbjörn _fucking_ —

 

“Ha!” Hana slaps a hand on the counter, the other pointing at Gabriel accusatorily. “You laughed!”

 

Torbjörn put down his arms, reverting back to his former position while Reinhardt let out a few chuckles. “Well, I’ll be,” Torbjörn says with raised brows, “he does laugh.”

 

Gabriel scowls at them before turning around and leaving the kitchen in a hasty retreat.

 

\--

 

Gabriel isn’t sure who started it, but it somehow became the latest trend in the base to try to make him laugh. Now, what’s worse is that someone also spread the rumor (and it’s _just_ a rumor) that the quickest surefire way to do it was through stupid outdated memes.

 

He stares blankly at the post it on the fridge, knowing exactly who’s behind this one. He rips the post it off, only to reveal a much smaller post it behind it with the exact same drawing.

 

“What is that?” Angela mumbles as she peers over his shoulder, eyes narrowed in confusion at the drawing.

 

Without saying a word, he walks away, heading straight towards the cupboards (partly because he still hasn’t forgiven her for what she did to him, what she turned him into, but he’s working on it).

 

“Why does it look like a… penis? With a,” she squints, “butt.”

 

A loud snore (that suspiciously sounds like a stifled snort) comes from the corner of the room, and Gabriel narrows his eyes at McCree, lounging in his chair, boots on the table and hat over his eyes, looking for all the world sound asleep, but Gabriel knows better. After all, he taught him everything he knew. But instead of giving McCree the reaction he wants, he says nothing, moving to open the cupboards…

 

…only to be greeted with the sight of fucking dickbutt plastered all over the cans, boxes, bottles, and everything else inside the cupboard. He opens the next cabinet and, yup, there’s dickbutt again.

 

He slams the cabinet doors shut, gritting his teeth in an attempt to stop the not-smile forming on his face. He does an about-face, walks towards the refrigerator, checks in there for food, and _dios mio_ , there’s more _dickbutts._

 

A chuckle escapes his throat, but he quickly covers it with a growl, though judging on the amused look on Angela’s face and the satisfied grin on McCree’s ( _pendejo_ isn’t even bothering to pretend to be asleep anymore), he didn’t quite manage to hide it fast enough.

 

He glares at McCree, but the idiot only shoots him a lazy smile, crossing his arms behind his head and leaning back.

 

His only consolation is when McCree tips his chair too far back and falls to the floor with a loud thud. Only then does he let out a small smile.

 

\--

 

Gabriel has gotten better at expecting their ‘surprise meme attacks’ and avoiding them as time goes by. Not since McCree’s dickbutt had any of the others gotten close to making him laugh— not Junkrat’s duck song, not Genji’s reenaction of old Vine videos, and definitely not Sombra’s rickrolling, despite her and Hana’s numerous attempts.

 

So there he sits at the rec room (which, honestly, only qualified as one because of the TV, the two loveseats, and the god-awful neon green sofa) with a book (he’s not trusting technology anymore ever since Sombra decided to join in the competition) and fully prepared for any unexpected ‘attacks’ that the others might throw at him.

 

A few minutes pass, and Zenyatta floats into the room, humming peacefully. What he doesn’t expect though is for the omnic to seat himself right beside him. Zenyatta has never bothered him before, respecting his personal space but still genial enough to try and make friends with him.

 

“Good afternoon, my friend.”

 

He side glances at the other warily, before returning to his book.

 

“I see you’re busy, but I was actually hoping to ask if you could look at something for me.”

 

He considers telling the monk to go away, before remembering that Zenyatta was one of the few people who convinced the others into accepting him, along with Sombra and Widowmaker, into Overwatch. He lets out a small sigh, before putting down his book and facing Zenyatta.

 

“What?”

 

His optics glow just a bit brighter when he asks, and Gabriel recognizes it as the omnic equivalent for a smile.

 

“I was wondering if you could look at this playlist I made. I was going to ask Lúcio, but he’s been sent on a mission and won’t be back until tomorrow.” Zenyatta reaches into a pocket of his loose pants for a phone, before pausing and tilting his head. “If you do not mind, of course.”

 

Gabriel just grunts in reply, holding out his hand. Zenyatta gives him the phone. “Password is the answer to the ultimate question of life.”

 

He looks up in a mix of confusion and mild irritation. “What?”

 

“Forty-two.”

 

Gabriel stops for a brief moment, but does not react otherwise. If this omnic thought he had him, he thought wrong.

 

“It’s spelled out, not the number.” If Zenyatta was disappointed at his lack of reaction, it didn’t show at all, so Gabriel just nods and puts in the password.

 

Zenyatta shuffles closer and peers over his shoulder, pointing at the screen.

 

“The music application is in there. There should be only one playlist in the menu.”

 

Gabriel nods, thumb tapping on the phone screen until he sees the playlist, untitled and with twenty-one songs total. He selects it and then, after seeing the content, barks out a short laugh before quickly covering his mouth with his hand.

 

  1. **_What’s New Pussycat?_** _by Tom Jones_
  2. **_What’s New Pussycat?_** _by Tom Jones_
  3. **_What’s New Pussycat?_** _by Tom Jones_
  4. **_What’s New Pussycat?_** _by Tom Jones_
  5. **_What’s New Pussycat?_** _by Tom Jones_
  6. **_What’s New Pussycat?_** _by Tom Jones_
  7. **_What’s New Pussycat?_** _by Tom Jones_
  8. **_It’s Not Unusual_** _by Tom Jones_
  9. **_What’s New Pussycat?_** _by Tom Jones_
  10. **_What’s New Pussycat?_** _by Tom Jones_



**_…_ **

 

“Seriously?” he asks, trying and failing to stop the grin forming on his face. It honestly isn’t even that funny, but Zenyatta definitely took him by surprise.

 

Zenyatta shrugs. “I am of the belief that happiness is something to be shared. That, and,” he tilts his head, the lights on his forehead glowing a little brighter, “it is an admittedly good look on you, Mister Reyes.”

 

 “‘Mister Reyes.’” Gabriel snorts, a corner of his mouth still curved upward and his head shakes. “Nah, don’t call me that.”

 

“Then what do you wish for me to call you?”

 

“Gabriel’s fine.”

 

“Gabriel then,” Zenyatta says, sounding pleased, and Gabriel nods.

 

The silence stretches between them for a small while, making it just the slightest bit awkward, before Zenyatta speaks again.

 

“So how _was_ the playlist?”

 

Gabriel’s lips twitch into a smirk. “Good enough to play at Torbjörn’s workshop.”

 

\--

 

News of Zenyatta’s success quickly spread throughout the base, and it seems to have encouraged everyone else as the number of attacks doubled, much to Gabriel’s chagrin and amusement. Hana, who evidently isn’t one to admit defeat so easily, is especially determined.

 

That is why he is immediately suspicious when she appears out of nowhere, walking beside him, a cheeky grin on her face.

 

“Hey.”

 

She’s obviously up to something, so he ignores her, walking faster even though she easily matches his pace.

 

“So,” she starts, “I heard something interesting yesterday.”

 

He grunts, not really interested.

 

“About you and Jack.”

 

_That_ piques his interest, because aside from Ana, most of Overwatch hasn’t dared to bring up that topic, especially not when in his or Jack’s presence, well aware of the bad blood between the two. He makes sure not to make his interest known, schooling his expression into one of indifference.

 

“A little birdie told me about your relationship back then, during the first Overwatch,” Hana continues, not one to give up (and he has to admit, as much as it is annoying at times, her ability to not to back down from anything makes him just the tiniest bit proud of her).

 

Irritation skirts in the edges of his mind as he is reminded of where everything went wrong, an echo of guilt, grief and old anger, and he has half a mind to tell her to back off and leave him alone.

 

“And by relationship, I’m referring to how sappy you two were together.”

 

Faded memories come to him. Blue eyes crinkling in laughter, a mouth stretched into a wide smile, teeth stained with chocolate syrup, a golden band sitting in a velvet box— but Gabriel is quick to banish them before the bittersweet feeling fully settles.

 

“Mind your own business, kid.”

 

She examines him quietly, before asking him, voice softer, “What happened?”

 

Honestly, Gabriel doesn’t know what happened. He only knows when it started and how it ended, how everything slowly fell apart bit by bit every day since Jack’s promotion, how Ana’s death and Reinhardt’s forced retirement became a catalyst for their destruction. But he doesn’t tell her that, hasn’t told anyone that (should probably tell someone soon, before he breaks himself apart trying to keep himself together, but he doesn’t).

 

“Switzerland happened,” he says without facing her, before moving again.

 

She falls silent after that, but still falls into step with him.

 

There is a long moment of silence, and then she lets out a huff. “That probably sucked. Having it end that way.” Then she pouts a bit. “And now the mood’s too heavy for me to do my attack.”

 

Gabriel smirks. “Well,” he starts, glancing at her sideways, “I don’t always end my relationships. But when I do,” he sees the wheels in her head turn and her eyes widen, and his smirk grows, “I end them with a bang.”

 

Her mouth falls open, reminiscent of the time she found out about ‘dabbing’ from Reinhardt, and he can’t stop the chuckle that falls from his mouth.

 

“Did you just out-meme me?! I can’t believe this! Hey, wait up!”

 

He continues walking forward, not responding.

 

She follows, glaring at the back of his head, before silently huffing and crossing her arms. “Okay, that was pretty good,” she admits. “GGWP.”

 

And before he could stop himself, Gabriel reaches out and ruffles her hair, ignoring her protests.

 

He’s getting soft, he realizes, but upon seeing the bright grin Hana sends his way, he finds that he doesn’t mind it as much as he thought he would.

 

\--

 

The rec room is full of people today, the junkers taking up one loveseat, Amélie (when did Widowmaker became Amélie?) and Hanzo taking the other while Symmetra sits on her own hardlight chair in front of them. Gabriel looks around from where he’s seated on the sofa, and he’s taken aback, not for the first time, by how natural it feels to sit here with them, mask off and weapons put away.

 

It scares him sometimes, how easy it is for them to make him smile, how freely he could express himself around these people. He feels… _safe_ around them. It’s been decades since he’s last felt safe, but God, he never knew how much he missed it (he knows it isn’t permanent, never would be, but a small part of him hopes it could be).

 

He feels someone sit down beside him, and that pulls him out of his thoughts. Gabriel cocks an eyebrow at Lena, who beams at him, arms draped on the backrest. He represses the urge to roll his eyes. It’s a wonder how Overwatch has managed to keep its existence a secret for so long, what with how unsubtle and obvious most of the members are.

 

“If you’re going to meme, just do it.”

 

A pout forms on her lips, but it disappears a second later, replaced by a cheerful grin. “Nah. Just wanted to hang out, you know?”

 

Gabriel holds back a snort, far from convinced (but he _is_ impressed by her acting, even if he doesn’t buy it).

 

“Go bother Amélie,” he says.

 

“Already tried, but she looks a bit busy right now.”

 

They both shift their gazes to look at her, smirking alongside Symmetra while Hanzo scowls at them and says something. He hears quiet laughter, and recognizes it to be Amélie’s.

 

A happy sigh from Lena, and Gabriel raises a brow at her. She looks at him and smiles sheepishly. “Sorry, I’m just glad, you know. That,” her eyes are drawn towards the loveseat again, “that Amélie’s coming back.”

 

He thinks of the newly-wed Mrs. Lacroix with her dry sense of humor, then of the cold and unfeeling Widowmaker, and compares them to the woman he sees sitting there, and he nods (he’s not the only one who’s changed, he thinks).

 

Suddenly, Lena lets out a loud breath. “Well, that’s enough sentimentality for today. Man,” Lena leans back, crossing her arms behind her head, “I could really use some bofa right now.”

 

Gabriel smirks at her. “You know that won’t work on me—”

 

“Bofa?”

 

The question interrupts him, and they both turn to see Junkrat looking at them with a confused tilt of his head. Lena giggles while Gabriel groans and resists the urge to cover his face with his palm.

 

“Yeah, luv. Bofa.”

 

“Is that loike, bobba tea or somethin’?”

 

“No. It’s just bofa.”

 

Junkrat’s face scrunches up in confusion. “The fuck’s bo—”

 

“Don’t,” Roadhog suddenly speaks up, not looking away from his datapad.

 

“Why? What is b—”

 

“Don’t.”

 

“For god’s sake, Roadie, just lemme ask the sheila what the fuck’s _bo_ — mmph?!”

 

The rest of Junkrat’s sentence becomes unintelligible as Roadhog puts his hand on top of the other’s mouth (or rather, entire face, what with its sheer size). Gabriel sneaks a glance at Lena, and snickers at the disappointment written all over her face, but that quickly changes when Symmetra speaks up.

 

“What is bofa?”

 

This time, Gabriel doesn’t stop himself from facepalming, and Lena lets out a loud hoot beside him. Roadhog sighs, while Hanzo stares at Symmetra, who arches a brow back.

 

“What? Did I say something wrong?”

 

“I’m disappointed. How could you not know what bofa is?” Hanzo asks, tone incredulous.

 

“Apologies, but Vishkar was never one for ‘free thinking’,” she replies drily. “That’s why they restricted our access to most sites on the internet.” Hanzo looks away bashfully, as if he crossed a line he shouldn’t have, but Symmetra doesn’t look at all bothered. “And besides, I’m not the only one was curious.”

 

“The junkman does not count.”

 

“Amélie does not know,” Symmetra replies, pointing a delicate finger at said woman, who scoffs.

 

“Who said I did not know what bofa means?” Amélie asks coolly.

 

“You didn’t deny it,” Gabriel intones, smirking when she twists her head to glare at him. “If you knew what it was, you’d deny it outright.”

 

“I know bofa.”

 

“You do not.” Hanzo says.

 

“Yes, I do.”

 

“No, you don’t, luv,” Lena chirps cheerfully.

 

“Oh, for cryin’ out loud,” Junkrat interrupts their exchange, having pried off Roadhog’s hand off his face, “what the bloody hell is _bofa_?!”

 

Lena bursts into a fit giggles, which she tries to smother behind a fist. Hanzo let out an exasperated sigh, while Gabriel shakes his head, Symmetra and Junkrat still looking confused, the latter more vocal about it.

 

“Roadie! Tell me!” He pulls on his friend’s arm insistently, and when that doesn’t work, he straddles the bigger man’s lap and shakes his shoulders. “What’s bofa? I’m dyin’ to know, mate. _Teeeeeell_ _me!_ ”

 

Roadhog silently looks up at the ceiling, as if to ask why him. Gabriel doesn’t know whether to laugh or to help him. Thankfully for Roadhog though, Symmetra speaks up and gathers everyone’s attention.

 

“I still do not understand.” She looks up from her phone. “It doesn’t explain anything.”

 

“What does it say?” Amélie asks, and Hanzo smirks at her.

 

“I thought you already knew.”

 

“I do,” she sniffs. “I’m just asking for the junkman’s benefit.”

 

“How considerate of you,” he replies monotonously, and receives a sharp elbow to his ribs in response.

 

“Continue, Satya.”

 

Symmetra clears her throat. “All it says is… ‘bofa deez nuts.’”

 

Amélie’s blinks, then her lips twitch. Gabriel cracks a smile, and he swears he heard Roadhog snort behind his mask through Lena’s loud laughter.

 

Junkrat, on the other hand, squints his eyes in thought, head tilting, until his mouth falls open. “Oh. Oh,” he lets out a cackle, “I get it! Yeah, that’s real funny, mate! I finally get it!” Another round of laughter falls from his lips, and Gabriel feels the urge to laugh building up in his own throat (because out of everyone’s, Junkrat’s laughter had to be the most infectious).

 

“Bofa deez nuts!”

 

Hanzo sighs, shaking his head, while Symmetra just frowns, mouthing the phrase to herself, eyebrows scrunching together.

 

“I still don’t get it what is so funny.”

 

\--

 

Shortly after, ‘bofa’ regains its popularity around the base (and possibly the outside world, considering how often Hana and Lúcio use it during the former’s streams). What amazes Gabriel is how often Winston seems to fall for it regardless.

 

“—and then I told him, ‘Just use some B of A,’” Lúcio says as he gathers another forkful of spaghetti. “Also, this is real good food, man.” He raises his fork, as if proposing a toast, towards McCree, who tips his hat.

 

“Abuela’s recipe.”

 

“Wait,” Winston frowns, “what is ‘B of A’?”

 

Lúcio snickers as groans rise from the table. “Ask Satya. I bet she knows.”

 

A faint blush colors her cheeks, and she harrumphs, pointedly not looking away from her plate.

 

“’B of— oh,” Winston says, voice deadpan. “Ha ha.”

 

Angela laughs from across him, the sound soft and gentle. “That’s the third time you’ve fallen for it this week.”

 

“Well, it’s not my fault I don’t know any of these,” he moves his hands, looking for the word, “ _memes_. I was raised on the moon.”

 

“Shame,” McCree drawls out, eyes full of mischief. He looks up from his plate, wearing the most innocent smile Gabriel’s ever seen on his face, and says, “You would’ve liked Harambe.”

 

Gabriel nearly chokes on his food. Jack, on the other hand, _does_ choke on his food, pounding a fist on his chest, and Angela is quick to pass him a glass of water.

 

It is Reinhardt, however, who gathers the attention of most of the table with his bellowing laughter, head thrown back. “Oh, _mein gott_! Hara— Haram—” he cuts himself off with another burst of mirth, his large frame racking with laughter. “I’ve forgotten all about— Where’s— haha— where are Ana and Torbjörn?” he asks, wiping a tear from his eye.

 

Gabriel glares at McCree. “ _Never_ mention that name again. 2016 was a mess,” he says, and Jack nods solemnly (really, this should’ve clued the others in on how dire the situation was back then, since he and Jack rarely agree on anything, although their relationship _has_ begun to improve somewhat).

 

The others exchange confused looks, too young to know what they were talking about. It’s Angela who asks what they all wanted to know.

 

“Who’s Harambe?”

 

Jack opens his mouth to answer, but McCree beats him to the punch.

 

“He’s Winston, ‘cept he died for our memes.”

 

This sets off Reinhardt into another fit of laughter, hands clutching his stomach, cheeks red. Gabriel tries his best not to join them really, but then he makes the mistake of looking at Winston, and suddenly he can’t stop the amused chortle that forms in his throat, and that makes McCree grin triumphantly.

 

“May he rest in peace.” Forlornly, he takes off his hat, presses it against his chest, and Gabriel is starting to lose it. He could see Jack pressing his lips together, shoulders shaking slightly, and he knows he’s starting to lose it too.

 

“ _Vaquero_ , shut it or—”

 

“Dicks out for Harambe!” He abruptly stands up, one hand reaching into his hat and throwing pieces of paper into the air, the pieces landing across the table, then one lands directly in front of Gabriel and—

 

“Are those ‘dickbutt’ cut-outs again?” Angela asks.

 

Gabriel loses it, and so does Jack. He throws his head back, slaps his knee, loud guffaws falling from his mouth while Jack is bent over, hands clutching his sides as he lets out a series of gasping laughs.

 

It takes a few moments before he regains composure. “ _Dios mio, mijo_ —” he stops himself, realizing what he just said. He tenses, looks up to see McCree’s eyes focused on his, brown and wide. But before he could take it back, McCree grins, lazy as the summer breeze.

 

“ _¿Qué pasa, jefe?_ ”

 

Gabriel draws a sharp intake of breath. The way he says it, the fondness, the familiarity— it’s like things returned back to what they were before he messed up, before Switzerland. He slowly lets the tension seep from his shoulders, and he shakes his head.

 

“He’s a _dead gorilla_?!” Lúcio asks, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline as he reads something on his data pad. “Okay, that’s just cruel. Why’d you turn him into a meme?”

 

Winston leans over Lúcio’s shoulder, and the horrified look on his face makes them laugh all over again.

 

“In May, Harambe, a gorilla at the Cincinnati Zoo, was [shot and killed](https://mic.com/articles/144758/a-male-gorilla-was-killed-in-order-to-protect-a-child-that-fell-into-his-enclosure#.mvkHOK3MR) in order to save a 4-year-old boy who fell into the animal's enclosure,” Symmetra reads from her phone, sounding bewildered.

 

Angela’s brow furrows. “And he’s a meme?”

 

“I told’ja he died for our memes,” McCree chuckles.

 

“Woah,” Lúcio says, scrolling down his data pad. “This Harambe sure caused a lot of controversy. And by that, I mean a _lot_.”

 

“If you think that’s bad, the politics was worse,” Jack says, shaking his head. “But Harambe,” he chuckles.

 

Winston sputters. “This headline is clearly not something to be joked about!”

 

“Calm down, my friend!” Reinhardt says. “It happened a long time ago. And besides, if we didn’t laugh at Harambe, there would’ve been nothing to laugh about back then.”

 

“2016 was a mess,” Jack says, repeating Gabriel’s words. “Besides, that’s how most memes start. Like that scene from ‘The Walking Dead’, the one scene after Carl shot his mom.”

 

“Ah, the ‘Coral’ meme.” Reinhardt nods.

 

“What’s ‘Walking Dead’?” Angela asks.

 

“Just an old series ‘bout zombies and survival and all that,” McCree replies around a mouthful of spaghetti, and Symmetra curls her nose at his table manners (or lack of), but does not say anything. “It’s pretty damn old, but I heard it’s good.”

 

“Bah! ‘Game of Thrones’ was way better!” Reinhardt says. “There were kingdoms, dragons, and of course, the beautiful Khaleesi!”

 

Jack looks up, narrows his eyes at Reinhardt. “Say that again?”

 

“‘Game of Thrones’ was better than ‘The Walking Dead’, Jack, and I will fight you on that!”

 

Gabriel tunes out their argument, instead focuses on the way everyone laughs and smiles around the table, comfortable and at ease. Even Jack has his body relaxed and guard down despite refusing to come anywhere near Gabriel without a weapon until a month ago. Jack, who used to look at him with scorn and disdain, can now talk with him on a friendly level. Not as they were back then during Overwatch (he doubts they’ll ever return to that, some wounds too deep to ever fully heal), but as they were during the SEP, as friends and comrades.

 

He briefly wonders if this is what it feels like to belong. If so, then he wouldn’t mind it if things stayed like this for a while.

 

\--

 

Jack and Reinhardt’s lengthy argument about which TV series was better led to weekend marathons for the whole team, Saturdays for ‘Game of Thrones’, Sundays for ‘The Walking Dead’. Regarding the question of which was better, the whole base seems to be divided on that.

 

“Yo, GoT fans remember to wear your red shirts for this weekend marathon!” Lúcio says as he skates by Gabriel and Jack, the two having bumped into each other on their way to the meeting room. Genji follows shortly after.

 

“But if you have better taste, wear blue,” the cyborg calls out as he passes them.

 

They watch as the two go down the hallway and around the corner, joking and laughing with each other.

 

“You think McCree has any spare red shirts?” Gabriel asks, smirking at Jack’s groan.

 

“I swear you picked Game of Thrones just to spite me.”

 

“Maybe.”

 

Jack rolls his eyes, but doesn’t say anything else as they continue walking in silence. Gabriel is struck with a feeling of déjà vu, as if this has happened before, and it occurs to him that it has. He remembers walking down this same hallway with Jack years ago, except back then, it was easier to fill the silence, easier to just reach out and touch Jack, whether it be throwing an arm over his shoulder or holding his hand.

 

(Now, the space between them is glaringly obvious to Gabriel, and his gut clenches because _he’s_ the reason why they’re like this now. He ruined them. A week ago, he realizes he wants what they had back then, and that just makes his heart ache all over again.)

 

“Gabe!”

 

He blinks, pulled out of his train of thought, and focuses on the present. He looks to the side and realizes Jack’s staring at him, gaze unreadable.

 

“You alright?”

 

Gabriel looks away. “Fine.”

 

Jack opens his mouth, but then closes it again with a click of his teeth.

 

They continue walking, the silence more awkward than it was before, neither knowing what to say to each other. Gabriel’s just the slightest bit thankful when Genji comes running towards them. Judging by how Jack’s shoulders relax slightly, he’s not the only one.

 

“Where’s the fire?” Jack asks as the cyborg comes to a stop in front of them, but is promptly ignored when Genji looks directly at Gabriel.

 

“Gabriel,” he starts, tone grave and serious, and that’s what gives away that what he’s about to say is anything but, “there is something you need to know.”

 

Then, there’s the telltale sound of Sombra dropping her camouflage behind them, and he feels her swing an arm around his shoulders, dragging him down a little due to height difference. He looks at her questioningly, and sees a determined glint in her eyes. Okay, something’s definitely going on.

 

There’s a sound coming from down the hallway, like someone riding a bicycle. He narrows his eyes suspiciously. Then, Lúcio appears around the corner, skates nowhere to be seen and riding… a unicycle?

 

“Here comes that boy!” Genji exclaims, throwing his arms out as if to present Lúcio, who comes riding towards them.

 

“Oh shit!” Sombra points at him, before letting go of Gabriel and holding out her hand, saying, “waddap!”

 

Lúcio high fives her and Genji as soon as he’s near enough, before speeding off, Genji and Sombra following after him with loud laughter, leaving Gabriel to stare blankly at the trio as they run off together.

 

He hears a snort, and turns to see Jack holding a fist to his mouth, before clearing his throat to cover the sound.

 

“What’s so funny, golden boy?” he asks, the nickname easily falling from his lips despite the many years that have passed since he last called the other that. He realizes what he just called him and he holds his breath, afraid he crossed a line in their slowly mending friendship.

 

Jack, however, doesn’t seem to notice and just shakes his head. “Sorry, it’s just,” the corners of his mouth twitch, stretching into a small smile (that goddamn beatific smile), “it’s the first time I’ve seen you so dumbfounded since, well,” he thins his lips, before shaking his head again and continuing in a softer voice. “Always thought nothing could take you by surprise anymore.”

 

Gabriel stares at him, and for a moment he thinks he sees blonde hair and blue eyes. He looks away, continuing his trek towards the huge meeting room down the hall. When he glances back, Jack is following him, but there is a strange expression painted on his face, something akin to hurt, which he quickly wipes off when he catches Gabriel looking.

 

“We’re going to be late,” Gabriel says, ignoring the guilt creeping up on him.

 

“Yeah.” Jack matches his pace, walking beside him.

 

When they arrive at the meeting room, the others are already there and Winston immediately starts briefing them on their next mission, but Gabriel’s more focused on trying to decipher the look he saw on Jack’s face. He chances a glance at the man, who sees him and stares back with an unreadable expression on his face. Gabriel, not knowing what to make of it, looks away.

 

\--

 

“There is no end to these people,” Zarya says, shielding herself and Gabriel as he open fires on the poor souls from the top of a roof, Hanzo beside him.

 

“Make sure you don’t kill everyone,” Angela reminds them, a hint of distaste in her voice at the mention of having to murder at all. “We still have to find out where their weapon supply is coming from.”

 

“Ain’t nobody got time for that,” Hanzo murmurs under his breath and into his comm as he lets loose another arrow, and Gabriel has to backtrack for a moment, staring at the man beside him before a bullet whizzes by his head and catches his attention. Did Hanzo Shimada, ex-patriarch of the Shimada Clan, infamous assassin and master archer, just fucking meme? Did he hear that right?

 

Apparently, no, old age hasn’t gotten to his ears yet because he hears Mei’s laughter come through the comm link a second later.

 

“‘Ain’t’? You’ve been hanging around McCree too often,” she teases.

 

Hanzo scowls, and Gabriel swears there’s a faint flush of red on his cheeks. “That is not,” a man screams in pain as he is brought down with an arrow, and is quickly silenced by another one, “true. And that is not what I— Angela!”

 

She ducks just as a rifle shot echoes through the night streets. Gabriel lets out a growl, covering her as she flies towards them for cover.

 

“I see sniper,” Zarya says. “On roof of bank.”

 

Hanzo nocks another arrow and shooting it in one breath, the sniper going down.

 

“Is Angela okay?” Mei’s concerned voice goes through the comm.

 

“I’m fine,” Angela responds, before looking at Gabriel and giving him a grateful smile. “Thank you for covering me.”

 

He grunts in return. He looks down the street, watches Zarya and Mei mow down another wave of enemies when he sees one of them duck into a building. “Cover me,” he says, placing a foot on the railing, “I’m going to go get our… _informant_.”

 

With that, he turns himself into smoke, following after the man he saw. The few enemies who see and try to follow him fall down behind him, and he doesn’t even have to look back to know there are arrows imbedded in their throats.

 

Five minutes later, he shadow steps back outside, ‘informant’ in tow. Hanzo and Angela are there as well, having come down from the roof as soon as the battle ended. Gabriel pushes the man forward, who falls down to his knees.

 

The man twists around, panicked. “Don’t, don’t come near me!” He backs away from Gabriel, only for his back to bump against Zarya’s legs, the woman crossing her arms. He looks up, face blanching so much Gabriel thinks he might actually faint. He suppresses a snicker, and from the corner of his eye, he could see Hanzo doing the same.

 

Angela, of course, takes pity on the man, and smiles at him apologetically.

 

“Calm down,” she says, gentle and patient, kneeling down to level with the man. “We are not going to kill you.”

 

“Yet,” Gabriel drawls out, making the man jump out in fear and Angela fix him with a pointed stare.

 

“Don’t listen to him,” she says. “We just want to ask you a few questions. We will not hurt you.”

 

“Unless you do not cooperate.”

 

This time, it’s Hanzo who says it. Angela shoots him an exasperated look, before turning back to the man.

 

“What’s your name?”

 

“M-Matheus.”

 

She smiles. “Matheus, and how old are you?”

 

“Twenty-six.”

 

“Ain’t nobody got time for this,” Hanzo mutters beside him as Angela continues her interrogation, and now Gabriel is sure that yes, Hanzo did meme. Hanzo Shimada, ex-patriarch of the Shimada Clan, infamous assassin and master archer, knows how to meme, and the thought makes him want to laugh. Gabriel grins instead, showing teeth. Maybe too much teeth, as their informant— Matheus catches sight of it, face going pale once more.

 

Angela sighs, turning to face them. “Why don’t you two go call Winston for extraction? I’ll handle things here.”

 

They look at each other, then shrug, leaving to do as she says.

 

“So, the memes,” he starts, glancing at the other, “the idiot’s influence?”

 

“Two idiots, actually,” Hanzo says, huffing out a small laugh. “Genji and Jesse.”

 

Gabriel hums when he hears the cyborg’s name, leaning against a wall as Hanzo brought out his communicator. If he thought about it, he and Hanzo aren’t that different, the need for redemption a familiar tune to both men. “Genji, huh?”

 

“Yes. Even as a child, _he_ was the one teaching me about pop culture. He especially loved video games.” There is a small but fond smile on Hanzo’s face as he talks, then it drops, replaced by remorse. “I still sometimes wonder why he forgave me, but,” he closes his eyes, “I’m glad he did.”

 

He looks up and turns to face Gabriel.

 

“And what of you and the soldier?”

 

“We’re,” Gabriel remains quiet for a moment, searching for the right word, “mending.” Beyond that, he’s not sure what to make of their relationship (strange and familiar at the same time, heartstrings tied up and twisted in knots) so he doesn’t say anymore.

 

“Hm.” Hanzo’s tone stays neutral, contemplative, and he nods, before dropping the topic and calling Winston.

 

\--

 

Careless.

 

_Fucking careless._

 

He hisses as Ana sews his wound close. Gabriel hasn’t had to have any of his wounds sewed shut in _years_ , and the only reason that changed is because of a stupid mistake. Good thing Jesse isn’t here or the _pendejo_ would— he lets out another hiss.

 

“Thought doctors were supposed to be gentle.”

 

She rolls her eye. “I am not a doctor, Gabe. Just deal with it. Painkillers don’t work on you, I ran out of ammo, and Jack ran out of biotic emitters. Besides,” she finishes up, looking over his wound once more, “it’s just a scratch.” She smirks, taps his cheek twice. “You’ll be fine.”

 

She starts putting away the first aid kit while Gabriel examines the wound on his left side, just below his pectoral. The cut is three inches long, deep enough to require sutures, but all in all, not life-threatening. The stitches are even, careful. Ana’s skills obviously haven’t deteriorated with age, but he wouldn’t have needed them had he been more careful. Which he wasn’t. He knows he isn’t as spry as he was back then, but he _sincerely_ hopes his age isn’t the cause for that stupid mistake.

 

“Pull down your shirt already,” she says, breaking his train of thought. “It’s snowing outside, and extraction isn’t for another hour.”

 

“I don’t get cold.” He’s half-dead, a walking corpse. Corpses don’t have much of a body temperature in the first place.

 

Ana doesn’t even blink. “Then do it for decency’s sake.” She gets up and goes for the door. “Rest. We’ll wake you up once Lena arrives.” And with that, she leaves Gabriel sitting on the bare cot.

 

He grumbles to himself, but does what she says anyway, feeling a slight twinge as he lies down on his uninjured side. The cot is hard and uncomfortable, just like everything else in this safehouse, but it’s something a least.

 

He tries to catch a quick nap, but he can’t, too aggravated by his stupid mistake. He runs a hand over the wound, irritation growing. How the _fuck_ did he not see that _hijo de puta_ sneak up on him? Had the fool been more competent with a knife, he’d be dead— well, dead-er than he is right now. At least he got out of that fight with only a stab wound and a bruised ego.

 

Three sharp taps catch his attention, and he lifts his head to call out.

 

“It’s open.”

 

He hears the door swing open, and a familiar gruff voice greets his ears. “Hey. You doing alright?” Jack pauses, unsure silence filling the air for a moment, before he speaks again. “You were bleeding a lot.”

 

“I’m fine, Jack,” he says, not bothering to face the other man. “It was worse than it looked.”

 

“Still,” Jack says hesitantly, “it’s unlike you to let your guard down like that.”

 

Gabriel sighs exasperatedly, sitting up. “I’m _fine_.” He turns to look at Jack, and freezes. He makes a weird sound, somewhere between a chortle and a cough, looking away from the other man and clearing his throat afterwards. If Jack thought he’d get him with that, he’s wrong.

 

 “What’s wrong?”

 

Gabriel looks at the other man, brow raised. “You don’t know?” He tries to read Jack, find out if he’s lying, before he has to look away from the other’s visor lest he give in to his mirth. He covers his snort with a cough.

 

A furrow forms between Jack’s brows, his forehead scrunched up in confusion. _Dios mio_ , he has no clue, does he?

 

 

“Is there something on my face?”

 

He loses it. He laughs, loud and sudden and echoing in the small room, head thrown back and shoulders racking with the force of it. Jack looks on, stupefied. A sudden twinge of pain on his side, and Gabriel forces himself to slow down or else he might rip his sutures. He lets out one last laugh, before looking up at Jack, who finally took off his visor and is staring at it blankly, speechless.

 

He turns to Gabriel, and their eyes meet, dull blue meeting with dark brown, and Jack chuckles, shaking his head (Gabriel doesn’t realize how long it’s been since he’s last heard Jack laugh like that, quiet and mellow, and it makes his heart skip a beat).

 

“Ingenious,” Jack says, “whoever did this.”

 

“Gotta be Sombra.” Gabriel grins, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees.

 

“And Genji,” Jack says as he turns the visor over, fiddling with the control panel hidden there. “He’s the only one who could draw the mouth and nose without me noticing.”

 

Gabriel smirks, teasing. “Getting old, boy scout?”

 

Jack’s hands stop, and he looks up, brow raised. “I’m not the one who got stabbed today, Gabe.”

 

“Touché.”

 

Silence hangs between them once more, but this one less awkward than before, but there is still tension there, something waiting to be said. The silence stretches for a long moment, then Jack breaks it with a tired sigh.

 

“Gabe,” he walks closer, closing the distance between them until he stands directly in front of Gabriel, “what happened in Switzerland,” his lips press together, and Gabriel closes his eyes, waiting for the questions, the accusations. “I’m sorry.”

 

His eyes shoot open, and he tries to meet Jack’s gaze, but the other man’s eyes are focused on the floor.

 

“I should’ve listened to you. When you said there was something going on in the UN,” he closes his eyes, regret rolling off him in waves, “I should’ve listened. I’m sorry.”

 

Gabriel stares at him, then looks away, rubbing his face. “Damn it, Jack.” His voice is hoarse with repressed emotion, and he feels Jack’s gaze on his face. He leans back against the wall, eyes on the ceiling. “You were always better than me at apologizing.”

 

“Gabe—”

 

“I’m the one who got us there in the first place,” he says, hands clenching into fists. “Fuck, if you think about it, it was all _my_ fault. I’m the one who started that shitstorm, reacted just as the UN wanted.” He swallows. “Like a fucking puppet. Yet here you are,” he glances at Jack, a wry smile on his lips, “apologizing to _me_.”

 

Jack remains silent, sitting down on the cot, body half-turned to face Gabriel. “The UN played all of us, Gabe,” he says finally, softly. “You’re not the only one at fault.”

 

Gabriel laughs, the sound ringing hollow across the room. “I ruined _everything_ , Jack.”

 

“Not everything.”

 

He looks up, meets Jack’s eyes, sees the same unreadable expression he saw there before, and realizes it isn’t as unreadable as he thought it was. An unspoken apology, a sign of forgiveness, acceptance. A promise to do better.

 

“Not everything,” he repeats, voice softer yet firmer.

 

And Gabriel believes him.

 

\--

 

The walker moans onscreen as it rips into two, lower half falling back into the well along with a loud gush of blood and guts.

 

“Told’ja they should’ve just shot it.”

 

Several voices shush McCree, and he grumbles like a child being told to behave, crossing his arms, but falling silent anyway, attention hooked to the holoscreen. A spike of fondness rushes through Gabriel, and he chuckles to himself.

 

His eyes wander around the room. Fareeha and Angela sit together, the former’s eyes glued to the screen while the latter lets out a small yawn. Sombra comes back from the kitchen, two buckets of popcorn with her, handing one to Hana and Genji, before going back to her seat next to Hanzo, who is seated next to McCree. Winston and Torbjörn sit at the back, quietly conversing with each other. Then there’s Jack.

 

Gabriel glances to his side, taking in the other man’s profile, illuminated by the light of the holoscreen. Jack flicks his eyes to meet his, and raises a brow questioningly. Gabriel just shakes his head, turning his attention back to the show.

 

Then the show freezes, inciting groans and complaints all around. Winston looks up from his conversation with Torbjörn, before moving to shuffle towards the holoscreen. “I’ve got it.”

 

But before he could, [the screen changes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dQw4w9WgXcQ), a jaunty tune filling the room, a practically ancient music video playing.

 

_“We’re no strangers to love. You know the rules, and so do I…”_

 

“Sombra!”

 

“Seriously?”

 

“Hey, this one wasn’t me, _amiga_."

 

“Then who?”

 

"Someone turn the goddamn thing off already!"

 

Gabriel smiles to himself, and his smile widens when he catches Jack mouthing the words to himself.

 

_“Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down…”_

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be really short, then it continued growing and growing and then my brain refused to stop churning out ideas for this. Also, happy holidays everyone!
> 
> Soldier: 76 with lenny face was drawn by my bro, [Reignfinite](http://reignfinity.tumblr.com/)! Thanks, bro! She's also here on ao3 with the same name, so feel free to check out her stuff.
> 
> Thanks for reading and I hoped you guys like this one! Kudos and comments are not necessary, but appreciated :)
> 
> ~~I swear, I'll finish the zenyatta widowmaker friendship fic soon~~
> 
> **EDIT:** Fixed a few mistakes here and there. Also, someone drew fanart of this and I am so happy because it is beautiful and I love it so much!! Revel in it here: http://coffee-in.tumblr.com/post/155123506157/ah-that-my-friend-is-called-reinhardt-shoots. Also, to everyone who left a comment and kudos, thank you so so so _so much._ *bows gratefully*


End file.
